Nature’s a past mistress at recycling things. At least now we’re trying . . .

I really try ever so hard
To recycle the things I discard:
I put plastics and tins
Into little green bins,
And harvest my paper and card.

Milk bottles get rinsed and returned,
While thick woody prunings get burned.
(Bonfire ashes will suit
The growth of soft fruit:
It’s the potash that does it, I’ve learned.)

I save aluminium foil,
Collect my car’s old engine oil,
And bank all my glass.
I compost my grass,
And make leaf mould to add to the soil.

Embarrassingly, I’m afraid,
I sometimes rush out with a spade
And a bucket I use
To collect horses’ poos
Which I stack ’til they’re fully decayed.

Yoghurt pots and those blue plastic trays
Are punctured, and then used to raise
Lots of flowering plants
That, when planted, enhance
Hanging baskets with colours ablaze.

When the time comes for drastic dead-heading
In the garden, my shrubs will be dreading
That my sharp secateurs
Will attack their coiffeurs.
They must know it will all end in shredding.

I’m environment-friendly, you see,
And doing quite well, currently.
So, when I pass away,
Go ahead, make my day –
Think recycling, and recycle me!

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